102 Minutes
by Anna Whitlinger
Summary: America goes through the day the World Trade Center falls, with Canada by his side. A late tribute to 911.


**September 11th**

**This a late tribute to 911. I guess I sort of wanted to write one of these, so here it is.**

* * *

**September 11th, 2012**  
**8:00 AM**  
**America's house**

It was a pretty nice day.

America woke to the sun shining in his face and the sound of an annoying bird chirping its heart out on his window sill. He yawned, stretched, and reached for Texas.

As he yawned again and rolled out of bed, America tried to recall what had happened last night. There was the party, the drinks...and then what? He could vaguely remember Japan singing a Mexican song, but what happened _after_...

Russia must've brought vodka again, because he was having a massive hangover right now. It hurt like hell...every _part_ of him hurt, or maybe that was just the aftermath of a night of drinking.

Strange.

He dressed, washed up, and was out the door, whistling the tune of "The Star Spangled Banner". It was an especially sunny day, bright enough to chill at the beach, but not quite too warm to be stuck at home, torturing the AC and playing old video games. McDonalds was just around the corner; it made America feel good just to see the yellow "M" come into view and the faint smell of burgers thickening with every step towards the restaurant.

Inside, the place was almost empty, except for a few college students and a family consisting of two kids and what seemed like their mother. The kids, an older girl and younger boy, were bickering over who got to use their mom's iPhone first. America watched them while sipping his coffee and eating-or more like inhaling-his burgers, the strangest feeling coming to him. Could he have seen them before?

The pains were getting worse by the minute. Thinking it was hunger, America had bought twice his normal quantity and earned a stare from the cashier, but it hadn't helped at all. It wasn't just physical pain; he hurt inside, too.

He felt _sad._

_What the hell?_ America thought, when he almost leaked a tear. It was such a good day, yet no matter what he told his mind, it refused to listen and made him stay gloomy.

America blinked. Had he just imagined it, or was the mother crying? Her eyes were bloodshot, there was no mistake about that, but it could just be something in her eye.

Until he saw, for sure this time, a tear run slowly down her cheek.

She said something to her kids. They both nodded, the fight already forgotten, and followed their mother out the door.

A newspaper was left on their table. He got up and walked towards it, a sick feeling in his stomach.

He made himself smile, chided himself mentally, and thought, _I must be out of my mind. It's probably just another ordinary Tuesday._

On the side of the paper, below the words "THE NEW YORK TIMES" and printed in small, evenly-spaced block letters, was the date.

_September 11th, 2012_

America's smile faded.

* * *

**September 11th, 2001**  
**8:00 AM**  
**Canada's house**

_Tap tap_

_Tap tap tap_

_Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap_

Canada sighed exasperatedly. "America, would you please stop tapping your pen? I'm trying to concentrate here."

"Dude, I'm bored," America whined. "How long are you going to take?"

"Ten more minutes. I promise."

Canada was working on some documents for his boss. Mr. Kumajirou was slurping maple syrup from a jar. The bear set down the jar and looked at Canada, puzzled. "Who are you?"

After growing used to his question, Canada had prepared a small sign that said, "MY NAME IS CANADA". He took at the sign and placed it in front of Kumajirou. "There. Happy?"

Kuma nodded thoughtfully. "So...you're who again?"

"How could you forget him?" America asked the bear, annoyed. "He's my bro, dude. The badass Canadia."

Canada sighed. "It's Canada. Why is that so hard to remember?"

"Nine minutes already," America reminded him.

"Oh, maple." After another minute, Canada set down his pen. "I'm done. So...where did you want to go again?"

America smiled proudly, thinking of his favorite city in the world. "New York City, bro. The greatest city of all time."

* * *

**September 11th, 2001**  
**8:15 AM**  
**Times Square, Manhattan**

Canada was literally shaking. America frowned at his brother, worried that he wasn't enjoying himself. "What's wrong, Mattie?"

"There are so many people here..." Canada said softly. He blushed. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to crowded places like this."

America just pounded Canada on the back. "Toughen up! You gotta have some fun! Hmm, I think I'll take ya to a museum."

The Canadian's eyes lit up. "Wow, I never knew you were that type, Amer-um, Alfred. I've always wanted to see the Museum of Natural History."

"Not _those_. I mean the museum right in Times Square; Ripley's Believe it or Not!"

Canada groaned, but followed his brother anyway.

* * *

**September 11th, 2001**  
**8:35 AM**  
**Times Square, Manhattan**

After only twenty minutes, America had to bring Canada outside before the weak-stomached Canadian vomited all over the five-legged cat.

America studied Canada while his brother did breathing exercises. "Maybe those aren't your speed."

"I want to go home," Canada moaned. Kumajirou tapped Canada's shoulder and asked, "Who are you and why am I on your back?"

America sighed. "I guess I'll take you to the Pentagon, then. You'll like that park over there."

* * *

**September 11th, 2001**  
**8:40 AM**  
**Pentagon, Manhattan**

"Here we are!" America exclaimed cheerfully. "You can feed pigeons and whatever...as long as you're happy, I guess."

"Thank you, America." Canada smiled gratefully. "You're a really great brother, you know?"

"Duh! Who else gets to have a hero for a brother?"

**8:41:00**

"I think I'll listen to some music," America yawned. He put on his headphones.

Canada merely nodded.

**8:42:00**

"Hey, Ca-Mattie?" America said.

"What?"

"I'm gonna go buy some hot dogs. You want some?"

"No, it's alright. I brought pancakes."

**8:43:00**

America bought some hot dogs at a stand and looked up. The World Trade Center looked as awesome as always. It was just another part that made America proud to be himself.

**8:46:15**

He decided he should go back now. America looked one last time at the twin skyscrapers and walked away.

**8:46:38**

America heard a scream. He turned, confused, and looked around. Why the hell was everyone panicking? His blue eyes moved upward and grew large.

The first plane struck.

**8:46:40**

The pain hit him almost immediately. America doubled over and screamed, and the hot dogs fell out of his arms. His scream drowned everyone else's. People began to crowd around him, staring at him like he was a lunatic.

America had never felt anything that hurt worse. Black dots spotted his vision. His lips and face paled to a sickly white. It felt like a monster had clawed its way through his stomach.

"Someone call an ambulance!" a masculine voice shouted.

"N-No...don't..." America said, his teeth gritted. Beads of sweat covered his forehead.

"What did he say? He said something!"

"Look, the North Tower's on fire!"

"What the hell is going on? The young man needs medical attention!"

"Yeah, does anyone have a phone?"

"My _brother_ is in that building!"

"I need...Mattie..." America groaned, before collapsing to the ground.

* * *

**September 11th, 2012**  
**8:48 AM**  
**McDonald's**

The pain felt more real than ever. He swore he could feel his scars, as if they were fresh and not eleven years old.

America went to the McDonald's bathroom and vomited, feeling so horribly wrong and empty.

How could he have forgotten?

Every year, there was that one day that he dreaded, because everything would come back to him, the memories so vivid it seemed everything had happened just yesterday. He'd never been able to get over the incident. It had been 102 minutes watching his people suffer, as they begged for help and cried hysterically, all of them broken and traumatized.

Three-_thousand_ people. Three thousand Americans dead.

And he could do nothing about it.

America shattered the bathroom mirror with his fist, feeling so angry at himself. What was the point of a stupid personification if it couldn't even save its own country? He was no hero. Heroes didn't stand by and watch their country fall to pieces.

A worker rushed to the opening of the bathroom, her face a look of panic and fury. "Young man, you did _not_ just-"

America ignored her and walked out. The only destination in his mind was home.

"Teens these days," the worker muttered, but seeing the look on his face, let him leave.

* * *

**September 11th, 2001**  
**8:46 AM**  
**City Hall Park**

Canada was having a lovely time with the pigeons. He didn't even notice that everyone in the park had stood until someone screeched, "My husband works in there! He's in danger!"

He finally blinked and looked around. Everyone was staring up at what America had said was the World Trade Center. Canada's violet eyes moved upward as well, focusing on the burning North Tower.

Panic gripped his heart. He thought of only one person:

_America._

**8:48 AM**  
**Pentagon, Manhattan**

Canada could hear his brother's screams before he saw him. He pushed past the crowds of people and saw America on the ground. He looked like he was trying to hold on to his consciousness.

An ambulance had arrived and were preparing to bring him in the van. America was resisting them the best he could, while under what Canada knew was a lot of pain.

"Stop it!" Canada yelled in his loudest voice, but it still wasn't loud enough. He ran to America. "That's my brother!"

"Yes, can't you see we're trying to help him?" A man said gruffly. "Damn, this kid is strong..."

"He doesn't _need_ medical attention," Canada said softly."He needs me."

The man rolled his eyes, but stepped back anyways. "Make it quick, kid."

Canada rushed to America's side. "Hey, America," he whispered, so no one else could hear. "I'm here."

America raised his head. He seemed to relax a little when he saw his twin brother. "Hey, bro..."

"Come on, let's get you out of here," Canada said. "Do you want me to carry you, or..."

"I can walk." America staggered to his feet and managed to stand without wobbling. He leaned on Canada and the two countries walked away from the crowds.

After a short moment of silence, the man said, "Well, just look at those two. What good brothers."

* * *

**September 11th, 2001**

**8:55 AM**

**Outside the Gateway Plaza**

"I have to help them," America said, still breathing hard. "They're...my people..."

"But you can barely move yourself," Canada pointed out.

"A world superpower is not that easily defeated." To prove his point, America began to move towards the burning skyscraper.

"Don't tell me you're planning on going inside." Canada rushed after him.

"I'm a nation. I can't die anyway."

"Not unless your country does."

"Which is why I have to save them! Countless people are in danger, Canada!"

Canada sighed. "Fine. But I'm coming with you."

**9:00 AM**

**Near the World Trade Center**

America was getting back his strength amazingly fast. He didn't know why, but he felt stronger with anger boiling inside of him. No one dared to hurt his country.

No one.

**9:02:32**

"Are you feeling alright?" Canada asked softly.

"For the gazillionth time, I'm_ fine_, dude. Can you just shut up now?" He didn't care that he was speaking so harshly. The anger was making him see crimson. Whoever did this was going to pay.

Canada remained silent.

**9:03:11**

America looked up just in time to see a second plane crash into the South Tower. Again a jolt of pain shot through him. He stopped walking abruptly and keeled over. _Damn..._

"America? America!" Canada stopped America from collapsing. The nation looked up. "Oh, maple..."

America tried ignoring his pain and move on, but failed miserably. "I have to...keep moving...:"

"America, please! You have to rest!" Canada begged, almost reduced to tears. It hurt him so much to see his brother like this.

The superpower took a deep breath and walked forward.

"Sir," an NYPD officer said, blocking America. He was standing a few hundred meters away from the towers. "I'm sorry, but you cannot go any further. This area is extremely dangerous."

"There are people hurt in there!" America yelled in his face. "I have to go in!"

The officer looked annoyed. "Of course there are. But you can't save all of them by yourself. You want to kill yourself, kid?"

"You don't understand! I can't die!"

The officer rolled his eyes. "And I'm the Queen of England. Find some other time to save the world."

America pushed past the officer, deciding that arguing was no use. "Hey, kid! What do you think you're doing?"

He was vaguely aware of Canada following quietly from behind. When the officer tried to stop him, America pushed him away, a little too hardly. The officer flew back ten feet, and the two nations moved on, entering the World Trade Center.

* * *

**September 11th, 2012**  
**9:00 AM**  
**America's house**

He hurled the plate across the room, watching it shatter to pieces. It hit the portrait of George Washington and left a crack in the painting's glass case. America picked up another plate and threw that one, too; the plate suffered the same fate.

He had let his own people die. Innocent people who had no idea what they were going to face. _Americans._

_Crash._

He was never a hero. America had failed his country. If not because of luck, the plane would've destroyed the Capitol building, and then the White House, killing the president. His own boss.

_Crash._

America screamed in fury, angry with himself for letting them die. The family he'd seen this morning-he'd seen the mother before. He'd saved her himself.

But her husband didn't make it.

_Crash._

"DAMMIT!" America screamed again, and was about to take his anger out on another object until the door flew open.

A man with messy blond hair, paler than America's, and hard, emerald green eyes stood in the doorway, breathing in short, quick breaths. His face was flushed like he'd just been running. He looked panicked, angry, annoyed, worried...there were a lot of emotions. But he clearly wasn't happy.

"England," America whispered hoarsely, then collapsed into tears.

* * *

**September 11th, 2001**  
**9:40 AM**  
**South Tower, 42nd floor**

Canada followed his brother through the thick black smoke, coughing the whole time. He knew that nations didn't die the normal way, but it was still extremely uncomfortable.

"Help!" a faint, distinctly female voice yelped. "Someone, please!"

"Hello? Hey, where are you?" America yelled back.

"On the right. I think my leg is broken..."

"Hold on, I'm coming for you." America made his way to the source of the voice. Canada did the same.

Through the smoky gray air, Canada could see a woman, maybe in her late twenties. She was dressed in a formal blouse and gray skirt. Her clothes were ripped and dusty with ash. The woman's face was grimy, her face the look of shock and terror.

She stared at the two nations. "Why are you here? You're too young to be working, yet..."

"Long story," Canada said, smiling softly at the woman. "What's your name, miss?"

She let out a shaky breath. "Judy," she said. "Judy Cardwell."

"Let's get you out of here, Judy." America easily picked her up and hoisted her on his back.

"You're strong," she murmured, but Canada didn't think his brother heard.

They looked around for more victims. Most hadn't survived either the impact of the plane or the fires that erupted. They did find a middle aged man. He wasn't hurt except for a few cuts and bruises, so he followed the two brothers easily.

"My husband," Judy mumbled. "He's on the 37th floor."

"We'll get him," America promised.

They began the slow descent down the stairs. All four were quiet. The situation was too solemn for words. America was still hurting, Canada was worrying his head off, the man had been shocked to silence, and Judy could not find anything to say.

And then the ground began to shake.

* * *

**September 11th, 2012**  
**9:56 AM**  
**South Tower, 37th floor**

The monster came back again, tearing his middle to shreds with the weapon of pain. Another description would be sticking a knife through him and turning it slowly in half-turns. America shuddered, willing himself to move on, ignoring his aching muscles that screamed for rest.

"W-What's happening?" Judy said, gripping his shoulders tightly. "Is it an earthquake?"

"I don't think so," Canada said, looking outside. "This tower might be collapsing because of the plane."

"We only have minutes," America said. His face was chalk white, dark with ashes and shiny with sweat. "Maybe only seconds."

Judy squirmed. "Please put me down...I can walk."

"Don't be stupid. You're hurt."

"I'll be fine."

Reluctantly America set her down. Judy struggled to walk, while calling, "Hello? Robert, it's me, Judy! Are you here?"

A male voice called back. "Judy? Is that you?"

Judy limped to the source of the voice. "Thank goodness...I thought you didn't make it!"

A man around Judy's age appeared from the smoke and embraced her. "Oh my God...you're safe..." Both of them were crying.

"I was in the bathroom when the plane struck," Robert explained. "When I came back, everyone was gone. I think they followed a guard to somewhere safe."

Judy only nodded and hugged him tighter.

America in the meanwhile was looking for something to act as a rope. "Canada, could you grab those curtains over there for me?"

Canada nodded and did as America said. He gave the curtains to his brother. America tied them together as quickly as he could; the result was a makeshift rope of around 45 meters long. There were a lot of curtains, but still not enough.

America walked over to the couple. "Listen. We don't have a lot of time before this thing collapses. I want you to do exactly as I say, alright?"

The two nodded. America continued. "We're too high up for you to make it to the ground. Your only hope is to swing to the North Tower where you can buy yourself a little time." He held up the curtains. "Use this, and make it quick."

They nodded again and took the curtains, walking to a window. America, Canada and the other man followed after. Robert tied Judy to the rope, insisting that she should go first. He kissed her forehead. "I'll meet you there, honey." Judy nodded, a silent stream of tears still flowing down her cheeks. Before she let go, she turned to the nations.

"What are your names?" she asked. "I didn't have a chance to ask you then."

"I'm Alfred, and this is my brother Matthew," America answered. He smiled grimly. "We're both heroes."

"Well, thank you, Alfred and Matthew," Judy said, smiling softly. "You've saved our lives today. You really are heroes."

Robert then gave her push and Judy jumped off the window ledge, flying towards the other building. The ground gave another tremendous shake.

"Go after your wife before it's too late!" America shouted as the ground trembled harder.

Robert stood frozen, an unnatural smile plastered on his face. "It's already too late," he said softly, as the ceiling finally gave away. "I love you, Judy."

Nine fifty-nine AM. The South Tower surrendered and America's world brightened, until all he could see was a blinding, sickly white.

* * *

**September 11th, 2001**  
**10:02 AM**  
**South Tower, floor unknown**

Something extremely heavy was pressing him to the ground. Canada didn't feel any pain, but he knew what America was going through was a different story.

"C-Canada?" a small voice whispered.

"Mr. Kuma!" Everything had passed so fast that Canada had forgotten Kuma was on his back the whole time. "Kuma, are you okay?"

"Something's crushing me..."

Canada tried to free himself, but he wasn't strong enough. "Sorry, Kuma, I can't move either."

"DAMMIT!" came America's voice from the other side. "I can't get this fucking thing off me!"

Canada did some breathing exercises while comforting Kuma. He knew that there was only one thing they needed.

A miracle.

**10:03 AM**

Even his strength couldn't lift the huge slab of cement crushing him slowly. The agony wasn't coming from the cement, but the fact that one of America's greatest accomplishments had failed.

America tried again and again to struggle out, but it was no use. The North Tower was slowly burning. He knew that it, too, would suffer the same fate as its twin.

Every passing minute made him panic. People were dying. There were at least 2,000 people in the towers combined. America was so tired and worn out, yet he continued to push, wishing for...

Wishing for what? There was no hope left anymore.

Everyone in the South Tower was dead. No one could've survived.

His eyes burned and he tried to stop from crying. Heroes didn't cry.

The tears came anyway, first drop by drop, then steady streams, then spilling out of his eyes so quickly the flow was impossible to stop. America had never felt more weak in his life.

He was so scared.

**10:05 AM**

It felt like hours had passed before he heard the sound of heavy footsteps.

_Why are there still people here?_ America thought. He tried to call out, to warn whoever was there, but the pain kept him from opening his mouth.

The footsteps grew louder, until America swore the person was standing right above him.

_Get the fuck out of here!_ he wanted to scream. _What the hell are you doing!?_

Until the weight crushing him suddenly lightened. The cement was removed, allowing him to see. America blinked and stared up at a tall figure.

Because of the smoke, only the outline was visible. But the hanging scarf and shadow of a pipe gave it all away.

The person spoke.

"Nations should be strong, da?"

* * *

**September 11th, 2001**  
**10:25 AM**  
**Ground Zero**

The three nations stood outside what used to be the South Tower, looking at pure disaster. The Pentagon was partially collapsed. America could feel the cut on his chest, right beside his heart. He could taste blood on his lips, a million different horrible flavors, the blood of all who had suffered.

There were so many bodies. They littered the ground like fish without water, so placid and peaceful they seemed asleep. Ash coated every surface, giving the city a dull, gray appearance.

Something else was off about the city. Something _different_, other than the destruction caused by the planes. America couldn't grasp what it was.

Russia only smiled as he stood with his allies. Not a happy smile, but not sad, either-just that the corners of his lips lifted upward, nothing more.

"Such destruction, da?" Russia remarked gently.

Canada moved closer to America and put a reassuring hand on his back.

And then America realized what was wrong.

The city was quiet. Usually New York had that hum every large city wore on itself, a beat that pulsed slowly, steadily, with the flow of voices, impatient cars, rock concerts...the list was endless.

But now...the hum was gone. The city felt hollow, and in turn America's chest felt hollow. Everyone alive was staring at what remained of the South Tower, their mouths either hanging open in disbelief or set in a thin, tight line.

Someone screamed, instantly shattering the silence.

"NOOOOOOO!"

The people began to shout, and not only were they Americans; there were British and Chinese and Indian and French, Canadians and Mexicans and all sorts of people, their voices and languages blending in together into one long wail of despair.

America watched them, his cheeks wet with salty tears, his teeth gritted to stop a sob.

_'I'm so sorry...'_

**10:27:00 **

He turned away from the people, facing the towers instead. He stood like he was about to fight; two feet apart, hands formed into fists, muscles tight.

"There...there still might be hope," Canada said optimistically, but failed.

"Don't lie," America said bitterly. He could feel it in his bones how weak the North Tower was. He felt its structure melting, losing the battle of over a thousand lives. "The end is coming."

The end was coming.

**10:27:00**

A single tear traced America's cheek, hanging on to the edge of his chin for a second before letting go to fall on the ground.

It was the last tear he would shed in the 102 minutes that changed his life.

**10:28:00**

The North Tower seemed almost human-like in the way it collapsed, bringing everyone inside along with it to its death. America watched the tower fall, his blue eyes cold and sad. Canada was frightened at how serious America was; he looked just as old as England, just as old as _China_, even.

He hoped that the cheerful America was still in there somewhere.

"What time is it?" America asked quietly. He trembled, so violently Canada thought he was having a seizure.

Canada looked at his watch. "Ten twenty-eight AM," he answered softly.

America's fists tightened even more until they shook. "Well, whoever did this has made their mark on American history," he said, his voice shaking; with fear or anger, Canada did not know. "I'll never forget this day. _Never._"

* * *

**September 11th, 2012**  
**9:25 AM**  
**America's house**

England had never seen the superpower look so weak. His former colony's shoulders were slumped, his blue eyes lacking their usual sheen of excitement, his hands shaking ever so slightly. Even Nantucket seemed to droop a little, not defying gravity as much as before.

Every year, on this day, America would lose himself to those fateful 102 minutes, the day that would change everything and break him to pieces. England knew he'd find America here, angry, bitter, and utterly broken.

America turned away, hiding his tears. "Leave me alone, England."

England had only seen America cry three times after his independence. The first was when England surrendered at the end of the Revolutionary War. The second was the day the World Trade Center fell. After that, America had always hid his tears; whenever England came rushing to his house every 11th of September, he'd already gathered himself, and would be found playing video games without enthusiasm.

This time, however, England made sure to come extra early.

"America," England began, "it's been over a decade."

America turned to look at England, his eyes unnaturally bright. "Well, that doesn't change anything, does it? _Does it?_"

Instead of answering, England stepped forward and wrapped America in a hug.

"Let go of me," America mumbled, but he didn't try to resist.

They stood like that for a long time, before England let go. "It's a beautiful day," England said finally. The two countries went to one of America's large windows and looked outside, without another word to each other. They watched the sun peek out from behind a thick cloud, shining through the trees, its golden rays splashing across the land.

* * *

**This turned out way longer than I thought, but I'm very proud of it. I did a lot of research for this story. Please leave a comment about what you thought.**

**Honor the heroes and ones who died on September 11th, 2001.**


End file.
